Boys and Burlesque

  Boys and Burlesque

  Ripley Proserpina

  Copyright © 2019 by Ripley Proserpina

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover by: Lucy Smoke

  Content Editing by: Heather V. Long

  Copy Editing by: Jennifer Jones at Bookends Editing

  Proof Editing by: Meghan Leigh Daigle

  Created with Vellum

  For Autumn: this one was rough and I couldn’t have done it without you.

  For Melanie: for always being supportive. There aren’t a lot of friends who will act out your books.

  Contents

  I. Before

  1. Betsy

  2. Josh

  3. Betsy

  4. Landry

  5. Betsy

  6. Westin

  7. Betsy

  8. Brant

  9. Betsy

  10. Josh

  11. Betsy

  12. Landry

  13. Betsy

  14. Westin

  15. Betsy

  16. Westin

  17. Josh

  18. Brant

  19. Betsy

  II. After

  20. Josh, Brant, Landry, Westin

  21. Betsy

  22. Josh, Brant, Westin, Landry

  23. Betty

  24. Josh, Brant, Westin, Landry

  25. Betty

  26. Landry

  27. Betty

  28. Betty

  29. Brant

  30. Betty

  31. Betty

  32. Betty

  33. Josh

  34. Josh

  35. Josh

  36. Betty

  37. Westin

  38. Westin

  39. Betty

  40. Landry

  41. Betty

  42. Betty

  43. Betty

  44. Josh

  45. Betty

  46. Westin

  47. Betty

  48. Betty

  49. Betty

  50. Brant

  51. Westin

  52. Landry

  53. Josh

  54. Betty

  55. Josh

  56. Betty

  57. Betty

  58. Landry

  59. Betty

  60. Brant

  61. Betty

  62. Betty

  63. Westin

  64. Betty

  65. Josh

  66. Betsy

  67. Westin

  68. Josh

  69. Betsy

  70. Josh

  71. Betsy

  72. Westin

  73. Betsy

  74. Landry

  75. Betsy

  76. Brant

  Chapter 77

  78. Betsy

  79. Betsy

  80. Josh

  81. Betsy

  82. Brant

  83. Josh

  84. Westin

  85. Landry

  Chapter 86

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Ripley Proserpina

  Part One

  Before

  “Everything was believed except the truth.”

  —Camille, by Alexandre Dumas fils

  One

  Betsy

  I tried to catch my breath. I didn’t want to be one of those girls who cried the first time they had sex, but this was Josh.

  And I’d honestly never thought this would happen.

  His strong hands, calloused from work on his dad’s farm, grazed my skin as he pushed my hair back from my face.

  Then he chuckled. “Back of my truck.” He kissed my forehead. My nose. My lips. He was still inside me, and his cock jumped when he laughed. My muscles twitched around him, and he groaned. “Baby.”

  Carefully, slowly, he slid out of me. I could feel him between my legs, wiping gently with his soft t-shirt.

  Earlier, I’d torn it off of him, ripping the old cotton because I had to feel his skin against mine.

  This wasn’t my plan. I hadn’t gone out to the back forty after I heard about his fight with his dad with the express purpose of losing my virginity. But that was what had happened. And I didn’t regret it.

  The old blanket he’d thrown down in the bed of his truck was itchy against my skin. I’d probably have a burn on my ass later, but it was worth it. Sighing, I snuggled closer to him and stared up at the dark Alabama sky.

  Josh tightened his arms around me, and I could feel the moment his mind went back to his dad. His entire body tensed, the muscles in his arms rigid as he buried his face in my hair.

  “Want to talk about it?” I asked.

  He blew out a breath. “Same shit, different day. The old man got my acceptance letter from Samford and pitched a fit. He wants me to stay here on the farm. But Bets…”

  “I know,” I whispered. Josh’s dreams weren’t the same as his dad’s. The farm that had passed down from father to son for more generations than I could count held no appeal for him. Josh’s hopes and dreams were wrapped up in football and college, and wherever that led him.

  I could understand that. My dreams were bigger than Shawville, Alabama, too.

  “I talked to Wes,” he said, after kissing the top of my head. I closed my eyes at the touch. “He’s going, too. But he left the letter on the dining room table, hoping his dad would find it. I meant to intercept it and explain. But there’s no getting through to him sometimes.”

  Westin Morehouse was one of my best friends. I had four: Josh, Wes, Brant Grafton, and Landry Shaw. From the first day of kindergarten, the five of us had become inseparable.

  And then we’d become something else.

  These boys were my best friends. They always would be, but sometime around my twelfth birthday, I’d started falling in love with them.

  All of them.

  And crazy boys—they loved me back.

  It was a secret, one we could never, ever, tell anyone about. Samford was a Christian university, and Wes’s dad was the pastor at our church. Too many dreams could be ruined if anyone learned about what we were.

  A week ago, I’d watched Landry be crowned Homecoming King along with Emerson Roy, and I’d clapped along with the rest of the homecoming court, even though watching them dance had been like getting stabbed in the heart.

  That was part of the deal though. Until we could get out of Shawville, we had to hide our relationship. No one would understand. Not our parents. Not our teachers, or friends, or any of the five thousand people who lived in this town.

  Wes and Josh were going to Samford, and they were going to be big football stars.

  While Landry—God—Landry could take over the world someday if he wanted to. Wes, Josh, and Brant would agree with me. The guy had more fire and more drive than all of us put together—and we were all damn sure of what we wanted.

  “He’ll support you,” I said, because even though Mr. Derry wanted Josh to take over the farm the day he graduated, he loved his only son. “It’ll take some getting used to, and some awkward Sunday dinners, but he’ll come around. He’s like you.”

  “Oh yeah?” Josh lifted his head, and I glanced up at him. He smiled at me, teeth white against his suntanned skin. “How’s that?”

  “He’ll do anything for the person he loves.” I giggled, thinking over our childhood. “Do you remember the go-cart you wanted to rebuild? You begged him for the worst one he could find because you wanted it to be a challenge. Remember?”

  He ch
uckled. “Yeah. He brought home the biggest piece of shit he could find.”

  “And I didn’t see you for six months of weekends,” I reminded him. “Because the two of you were making it run.”

  Inside the truck, Josh’s phone started to ring. He groaned. “I don’t want to move.”

  “So don’t.” It was almost summer. Our days of sneaking kisses and brief meetups were numbered. Soon, the entire summer would stretch in front of us, and we’d be together all we wanted.

  And after that?

  After that, we’d all be out of Shawville. So even if Josh and Wes were in Birmingham, and Brant was in Mobile, and Landry in Virginia, and I was dancing in New York City, we’d be on the way to making our dreams come true. A little time apart wouldn’t be the end of us. We were strong, and we could survive anything.

  Josh’s phone stopped ringing, and he relaxed against my side. A smirk rested on his full pink lips, and I had to kiss him. “Hot boy smirk,” I whispered as I drew back. “It gets me every single time.”

  His eyes were still closed, and the smirk was still in place. “I’ll make a note. I like when you’re under my spell.”

  “It’s impossible not to be.” Josh was more handsome than a boy had a right to be. His eyes were a light golden brown, and contrasted with his dark, nearly black hair. He had thick dark lashes, and I’d caught him glancing up from beneath them as he spoke to people. More than one girl sighed when he did. I definitely sighed. I couldn’t help it.

  Throwing his arm across my body, Josh grabbed my hand and held it up. On the ring finger of my left hand, I wore a simple silver band. My grandmother thought it was one of those I-promise-to-wait-until-I’m-married rings that Reverend Moorehouse gave out at vacation bible school four summers ago, but it wasn’t. Maybe I was only fourteen, but I knew I couldn’t make a promise like that. I’d already decided the boys were mine, and I’d give my soul for them.

  So my body and virginity weren’t that big a deal.

  I guessed it was surprising we’d been able to wait this long. There had been a dozen other times with one or other of the boys that I thought this would happen, but something always interrupted us.

  This, though. This was perfect, and I had the sense that what Josh and I had just done was exactly the way it was supposed to happen.

  “You still promise?” he asked, holding my hand and playing with the silver band.

  On the outside of the band, it said the same words, “promise.” On the inside, the boys’ names were inscribed. Once they’d given it to me, I’d never taken it off.

  It was something, getting a promise ring from four boys when you were fourteen. Any of our parents would have told us that fourteen-year-olds couldn’t make promises like marriage and forever, but the boys knew what they wanted. And I knew what I wanted.

  This ring was their promise that we’d always be together, and they’d always love me.

  “I promise,” I said, pulling our hands beneath my chin. “I’ll love you forever Josh Derry. And now you’ll have to marry me. I’ve trapped you with my sinful body.”

  Josh’s entire body shook as he belly-laughed. The sound rocked the truck, and soon I was chuckling along with him. “Wes’s dad would get all the deacons and biddies and they’d have a prayer circle if they knew how many times I took the Lord’s name in vain tonight.”

  I shoved my elbow into his stomach, but his abs were rock hard, and all I managed to do was hit my funny bone.

  “Ow!” he complained. “If I’m going to Hell, woman, it’s your fault. I’m the one whose honor has been besmirched!”

  “Joshua Harris Derry, you’re horrible. I can’t believe I let you deflower me.”

  He nuzzled the back of my neck, and I soon found myself arching back into his arms. His hand traveled down my stomach and back between my legs. His fingers skimmed along my folds and then back to circle around my clit. “I’m the luckiest man alive,” he whispered. His voice was husky now, and he pushed his erection against my ass. “Are you too sore to take me again?”

  I shook my head where it was pillowed on his biceps. He lifted my leg and drew it over his until I was wide open and could feel the cool breeze against my wet, overheated skin.

  “Josh,” I whispered as he slid inside me and began a gentle rocking.

  His touch set me on fire. Soon I was reaching for him, desperate to anchor myself as he drove into me from behind. I threaded my fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck and searched for the hand that was still between my legs.

  When I found it, I linked my fingers with his. Somehow, even though this was the second time either of us had had sex, he knew exactly how to touch me. Exactly how to make me come apart.

  I was so lucky. Most girls didn’t get this. They didn’t get to have sex with the people they loved, and they certainly didn’t get to have sex with boys who cared more about their pleasure than their own.

  “Come on, Bets,” he growled in my ear. “Come on my fingers. I want to feel it.”

  Jesus Christ. I might have said that out-loud, because he started laughing. In a matter of seconds, I was doing just what he demanded. I exploded.

  My cries rang out across the field, startling the birds from their trees. Josh came just as I started to catch my breath. His rhythm became jerky, faster, before he let out a groan and spilled himself inside me.

  “Elizabeth Lauren Belle Bartlett, I love you.” First he whispered, and then he cleared his throat and yelled to the world, “I love you Betsy Bartlett, and I will until the day I die!”

  “I love you, too, Josh,” I said. “And I will until the day I die.”

  Two

  Josh

  I fishtailed when I took the turn to my house too fast. It was late, according to the clock on the dash, close to three a.m., and I was in for a world of trouble when I got home.

  So I slowed down, because I wasn’t in a hurry to get my ass chewed for the second time in a day, and because I had something so much better to think about.

  Betsy.

  I loved that girl. She’d started out as this fiery little tagalong who wouldn’t leave me and my best friends alone. Was it crazy that I could remember the very first time I laid eyes on her?

  Wes, Brant, Landry and I had been making a city in the sandbox, first day of kindergarten, and she stood off to the side, watching us. I ignored her, because that’s what I did with girls. Girls were whiny and hated to be messy, but as I glanced at Betsy again and again, I thought she wasn’t like any girl I’d seen before.

  For one thing, she wasn’t dressed like any of the other girls. Her hair wasn’t braided or pig-tailed or ribboned. Her white blonde hair was short and tangled, liked she’d chopped it herself with a pair of scissors. And she wore a plain t-shirt, one that wasn’t very clean, and a pair of jeans that were way too short.

  I hit a pothole, and it bounced me right out of my daydreaming. “Fuck.” This part of the road was washboard, and my backend would jump around like popcorn if I didn’t take it slow. It wasn’t until I turned down my driveway that I let myself get caught up in memories again.

  When I compared kindergarten Betsy to the one I’d just held in my arms, not much had changed. Her hair was soft and her clothes clean, but she was still as stubborn and direct as she’d always been.

  That day in kindergarten, Wes had noticed her the same time I had. He’d nudged me. “That girl’s starin’.”

  “Hey!” Landry had yelled. “Hey, girl!”

  She jumped like we’d poked her with a cattle prod and ran around the corner, disappearing.

  “I don’t want to play with no girl,” Brant had announced, but he stood and wiped his hands on his pants. “I’m gonna go see what she wants.”

  “Me, too,” I said, because she was interesting-looking and someone I’d never seen before, and at the age of five that was weird, because everyone knew everyone in Shawville.

  Brant took off, and we scrambled after him. The kindergarten building was set off fr
om the rest of the elementary school, and we went all the way around it without seeing her.

  We were pretty good spies, so this made her even more interesting to me. Interesting-looking and interesting-acting. And a girl.

  “What you lookin’ for?” someone asked, and to my eternal embarrassment I’d squealed.

  Heart beating a million miles an hour, I spun to find the girl watching. She crossed her arms and peered around me, looking for whatever we were trying to find.

  When she didn’t see anything, she stepped back and lifted her eyebrow.

  God damn. She still gave me that look: challenging, curious and amused.

  I was struck dumb the first time she gave it to me. I’d stood there, mouth open, searching for some kind of response, and she’d just waited.